Gods! how they shout where Princess Pearl gives Goggle-eye a slap;

And how they shriek when Slipperi flies up the Vampyre trap

Oh, how they stamp their little boots, and madly scream and clap!

And when the Transformation comes, and everything is dark,

The gong beats like a thunder clap, or cannons in the Park;

How John doth nudge his brother James, and cry "Now comes the lark!"

The King is banished from the stage, and quickly in his place;

Blithe Harlequin appeareth there all spangles and gold lace,

He standeth in an attitude of elegance and grace.

Then Columbine skips nimbly forth, and cuts an entrechat; A youthful dandy in the stalls, breathes languidly "Brava,"

Young James is shot right through the heart, and faintly cries "Hurrah."

Then cometh trembling Pantaloon, who seemeth weak and old,

And yet by the unfeeling Clown's perpetually "sold—” I ween to play old Pantaloon, one should be stout and bold.

To him, the Clown-the little folks all greet him with a roar, They shout when he says "Here we are!" he says it as of yore; We've laughed at it each Boxing-night-we'll laugh at

it once more.

And from this moment ceaselessly, until the curtain falls, Is nought but fights, and roars, and rows, and squabbling, shrieks, and squalls.

The fun is over-twelve o'clock is booming from St.


The one-horse fly is at the door, the civil man is there; John muffles up his sister in her little cloak with care; Young James thinks of his Columbine, with bright and waving hair.

John crowds up to his brother, and they keep each other warm,

They dare not even whisper, for a word would break the charm

But little Jane is fast asleep, her head upon my arm.

What dreams, what golden dreams, my little friends will have to night

Of Fairy forms, of music, and of stars of dazzling light;

Oh! may their waking visions be as beautiful and bright.

(By permission of the Author.)


(Author of "The Gentle Life.")

["The Prince was standing at the baptismal font prepared for the ceremony-only one point remained, respecting which his curiosity was still unsatisfied. 'Tell me,' said he to the holy bishop, 'where is now the greater number of the kings and princes of the nation of the Frieslanders—are they in the paradise which you promise me, or in the hell with which you menace me?' 'Do not deceive yourself,' replied St. Vulfran, 'the princes, your predecessors, who have died without baptism, are most assuredly damned; but whosoever shall believe henceforward and be baptized, shall be in joy eternal with Christ Jesus.' Upon this Radbod withdrew his foot from the font, and said, "I cannot resolve to relinquish the society of the kings, my predecessors, in order to live with a few poor people in the kingdom of Heaven. I cannot believe these novelties, and I will rather adhere to the ancient usages of my nation.'"-Fleury, 1. xlix., s. 35.]

THE banner of the holy Lord
Is floating fair to-day,

Borne by His priests who zealously
Throng down the crowded way—
For 'tis now the holy Vulfran,

Lord, aid him from on high!
Will baptize the King of Friesland,
With his nobles standing by.
King Radbod at the holy font
Standeth full closely now,
A golden cross hangs from his neck,
And no crown is on his brow;
But his mien is cold and haughty,
Unbefitting the pure faith
Of the meek and lowly Jesus,
Who redeemèd us from death.
St. Vulfran now approacheth-

And priests around are heard Chanting aloud the praises

Of their meek and blessed Lord. Yet above their floating voices

Is heard one high and loud, Who speaketh thus to Vulfran,

Amid the wond'ring crowd:"Tell me, thou holy Bishop"

Thus speaketh now the King"Are the brave who ruled before me, And of whom our poets sing, Are they now in the Paradise,

Whose joys ye Christians tell; Or are they now a writhing

In the torments of your Hell?" The Bishop spake out boldly

"Radbod-be not deceivedAll those princes of your nation,

Unbaptized and unshrieved, Who held the throne before ye,

And who reigned ill or well, So they believed not in Christ, Are burning now in Hell."

Then the proud and haughty Radbod
Drew his foot from out the font,
And placed the crown upon his brow,
And looked as he was wont;
And his nobles gathered round him,
While St. Vulfran stood alone,
And thus the King bespoke the Priest,
In a deep and bitter tone :-

"I'll not believe such tidings;

And, sooth, I'd rather dwell
With all my brave ancestral kings,

E'en though it be in Hell-
Than with a few poor people

Of your flock, the happy sheep,
Who live, for aye, in Paradise-
my ancient faith I'll keep."

Then with haughty step and measur'd tread
He swept from out the fane,

And the clash of many martial feet
Doth follow in his train :
While the holy Vulfran kneels in pray'r,
And the priestly brothers sing
To God-to aid their holy faith,
And turn the stubborn King.


MR. BOB SAWYER embellished one side of the fire, in his first-floor front, early on the evening for which he had invited Mr. Pickwick; and Mr. Ben Allen the other. The preparations for the reception of visitors appeared to be completed. The umbrellas in the passage had been heaped into the little corner outside the back-parlour door; the bonnet and shawl of the

landlady's servant had been removed from the bannisters; there were not more than two pairs of pattens on the street-door mat; and a kitchen candle, with a very long snuff, burnt cheerfully on the ledge of the staircase window. Mr. Bob Sawyer had himself purchased the spirits at a wine vaults in High Street, and had returned home preceding the bearer thereof, to preclude the possibility of their delivery at the wrong house. The punch was ready-made in a red pan in the bed-room; a little table covered with a green baize cloth, had been borrowed from the parlour, to play at cards on; and the glasses of the establishment, together with those which had been borrowed for the occasion from the public-house, were all drawn up in a tray which was deposited on the landing outside the door.

Notwithstanding the highly satisfactory nature of all these arrangements, there was a cloud on the countenance of Mr. Bob Sawyer, as he sat by the fire-side. There was a sympathizing expression, too, in the features of Mr. Ben Allen, as he gazed intently on the coals; and a tone of melancholy in his voice, as he said, after a long silence :—

"Well, it is unlucky she should have taken it into her head to turn sour, just on this occasion. She might at least have waited till to-morrow."


"That's her malevolence; that's her malevolence," returned Mr. Bob Sawyer, vehemently. "She says that if I can afford to give a party I ought to be able to afford to pay her confounded 'little bill.' "

"How long has it been running ?" inquired Mr. Ben Allen. A bill, by-the-bye, is the most extraordinary locomotive engine that the genius of man ever produced. It would keep on running during the longest lifetime, without ever once stopping of its own accord.

"Only a quarter, and a month or so," replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.

Ben Allen coughed hopelessly, and directed a searching look between the two top bars of the stove. "It'll be a deuced unpleasant thing if she takes it into

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